Heartless Neck Tattoo Novels & Stories

Good for him. My eyes drifted up, catching on something I hadn’t noticed before: a tattoo peeking just above the collar of his jacket. A serpent—coiled, detailed, the scales inked in deep black and subtle greens. It curled around the side of his neck, the tail disappearing under his ear, the head resting near his Adam’s apple like it was about to strike. I tilted my head. “New ink?” His hand flew to his neck instantly, fingers pressing the collar higher to cover it. His frown was immediate and for a second he looked almost startled, like I’d caught him doing something wrong.

He turned slightly, enough for me to get a view of his front, but not for him to see me standing there. I noticed a tattoo of a heart on the left side of his chest. Instead of an arrow going through it, it was a rose. The heart was empty in the middle, except for the letter "A" at the top of the inside of the heart. An image of a man, who I could only pinpoint as Michelangelo in my head, came to mind and I could see him sculpturing this Adonis to pure, Italian perfection, and my, what a sight he was. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude to stare?" I was brought out of my ogling.

His tousled hair that is as black as an endless abyss probably was messed up by the breeze, making him appear like an only-begotten son who did nothing but cause headaches. Both of his arms are covered by his worn-out cardigan, but I didn’t miss to notice the tattoo he has in his neck. Despite being unable to tell whether it is simply a boat or a moon, the looks of it brings out an aura of sovereignty. It’s masculine, cool yet intimidating. Everything I see in him resembles darkness, but I saw light by the way he looked at me.

Then he reaches for the hem of his own shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. I’ve seen him shirtless a thousand times. Memorized every line of muscle, every scar from a childhood he rarely talks about. But I’ve never seen this. Over his left ribcage, directly above his heart, is a tattoo. Fresh, still slightly red at the edges, covered in a thin layer of protective film. A single white rose, rendered in exquisite detail. Petals unfurling, delicate and luminous against his skin. Thorns subtle but present, wrapping the stem in elegant black ink. Beneath it, in small, precise script:

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Oh, he’s going to pay, Ryan. Oh, he will pay,” she muttered. “Now, to the only tattoo that doesn’t have a physical scar behind it. You asked me to tell you everything, so here goes nothing,” Ryan said. Scarlet furrowed her brows. “Which one doesn’t have a scar?” “The pretty face on my chest,” Ryan replied, pointing at the tattoo of a girl placed directly over his heart. “Who is she?” Scarlet asked softly.

I shake my head at him and look away. He's sitting with his knees pulled up and his arms draped lazily over them, giving me a view of his arm and hand tattoos. He has 'love' and 'pain' tattooed across his knuckles; on his right hand, he has a rose, and on the left, he has a skull. My eyes follow up his arms looking at the artwork on them for a second before I rip them away and return my glare to him.

She boldly bent to kiss my neck, and her lips slid along my shoulder, pushing black silk out of the way. She undid the buttons slowly, her lips following along as she did so. She bared my chest, smooth and hard, with a few tattoos I no longer paid any attention to. One was a skull that Id had done when I was a teenager and full of anger. Another, a slash down my right side, was a black panther stretched out along the slim expanse. Yet another, on my left pec, was a revolver, another stupid choice of a teenager. Id have them covered when I could be bothered.

Holding the phone to his face, I said, “What do you have to say?” His brow creased slightly. “Helena,” he called her name in a beastly growl, his gaze fixed back to mine before he pulled his collar down slightly, showing me the viper tattoo on his left neck. “The guy in the pictures doesn’t have this. The fuck did you not notice?” His voice was hard as he tossed the phone back to me. I caught it and stared at the picture. He was right—the man didn’t have the viper tattoo on the left part of his neck.

I don’t even know what’s real anymore, but one thing’s for sure—if Mike sees this, it’s over for me. I knew I shouldn’t have stepped out last night. How the hell did I get a tattoo on my neck? Not even something small or subtle, but a fucking handprint—like someone choking me. It’s not a design; it’s a mark, black ink spread across my skin like a warning. My stomach drops. Fuck. I’m finished.

The maids soon wore pitiful countenances as they headed out to work. They all did expect one who couldn't stop herself from gaping at Thane. Her co-workers tried to snap her out of her constant gawking, but she paid less attention to them. He's shirtless with the expertly drawn tattoo of a moon visible to every seeing eyes. Someone might find it strange for a tattoo of the moon to be drawn. But, Thane loves it. Maybe it's because of his immense obsession of the moon at such a tender age. Thane took notice of the unfocused maid. A frown played on his lips as he glared intimidatingly at her.